Unfairytale
by The Tox
Summary: AU. Once upon a time, two boys shared a damaging and enduring love. It was told over the years and fated to be repeated. Eremin, warnings for homophobia and bullying.


_Fraction one_

_"in distress"_

Behind a tree near the playground sat a crying twelve year old boy. Too old to be seen there, too old to be crying, but too scared to move. He tried to be quiet, but was too hysterical to stop his sobbing. His pants, purchased a year earlier at a second hand store, and only slightly too tight, were drenched with pee. His face was sticky with snot and blood, and he was clutching his stomach.

The sky was ink black, starless and unforgiving. The nearest streetlamp was by the entrance of the playground, so he was well hidden. Save for his sobbing.

"Hey, he's over here!" a voice he knew too well yelled, calling for friends. The boy got up to his feet as quickly as he could, ready to bolt, but fell to the ground again when he tripped over a rock that darkness had hidden from him. He fell out from the trees' shadows, and lay exposed on the outskirts of the playground, a sight to be seen for the other boys who now came walking towards him.

"Thought you could escape? That's pathetic, Arlert. We could hear you crying for mama from the supermarket!" one of the other boys taunted.

"Look at that," another said and pointed. "He peed himself!" They laughed when they noticed, having now formed a circle around the crying boy. Their laughter echoed around him, and he had trouble keeping up with what was said.

"You look like a fucking girl!" one of the boys said. "You're not a princess, you faggot. Your prince charming isn't going to save you."

He knew that. Maybe that was why he was crying so much.

One of the boys kicked him at his chest, and then another one sat down on his back. A third, or maybe it was the first one again, held down his legs, and even though he was shaking in their hold he had no means of escape.

"Say good bye to your prince charming," another one said, as he crouched down by the crying boy's head. "I doubt he'll like his princess bald!"

The boy screamed as loud as he could when a chunk of his hair was pulled straight off his scalp. Involuntarily he trashed about, but he was muffled when they shoved a heap of leaves in his mouth, until he could barely breathe. They started pulling off more of his hair, another tousle of blonde strands. He was gagging on the leaves and his hysteria, but the boys didn't understand what was happening.

When the crying boy had five bold spots on his scalp, one of the others noticed that he wasn't moving. Like scared children do, they ran away as fast as they could, and left the unconscious boy there.

Two hours later, the boy woke up at a hospital. Next to his bed he saw his grandfather, who had fallen asleep. His grandfather was ill, and wasn't supposed to leave their home too much, so the boy felt guilty for making him come there.

"I'm sorry," he said. But no one heard him.

* * *

_Fraction two_

_"poisoned apple"_

In the hours of darkness, the dark haired boy woke. He got up from his bed and walked to the kitchen; getting a glass of water and drinking it one go. A Friday eve, well past midnight, he was tired and exhausted from a long week of school.

Fifteen years old, he thought that he was more than old enough to take a walk outside by himself at this hour. But he always preferred company when he walked. He had a mother, a father and a step sister, but rather than bothering any of them, he got dressed in jeans and a sweater, and grabbed his cell phone and keys on his way out.

Springtime made for a warm night, and nocturnal insects made for noise to fill it. The villa neighbourhood he lived in was silent almost at all times, but the magnitude of the silence was extra clear during this late time of day.

As he was walking, he called the only number he knew by heart, and pressed the phone to his ear. He waited one signal, two signals, and then heard the phone picked up at the third.

"_Eren_?" his friend said with a groggy, tired voice on the other line. "_You can't call now_." He was whispering." _It's... it's 2:20 in the morning_."

"I'm on a walk," Eren informed him. "I'll be by your place in fifteen minutes. You can be dressed by then, right?"

His friend appeared to be hesitating. "_Eren, I am really tired_," he said finally.

"It's Saturday tomorrow," Eren persisted. "And you can sleep at my place. Come on, Armin."

Another pause followed, and then Armin whispered, "_All right, I'll be ready_." They hung up, and Eren wore a victorious grin on his face.

Connecting the villa neighbourhoods to the city was a small asphalt road crossing a grassy field, with one side facing a slope towards a riverbank. It was a quiet, beautiful scenery, with the stars reflected upon the water surface. Only a few lampposts lit up the road as Eren crossed it, but he knew the way to Armin's home like the back of his hand.

As he reached the town centre, he was made aware that he was not the only one awake. Drunken adult women laughed and clung to each other for support as they crossed the street, a pub was still open with guests drinking by the outdoor seating, and lonely men and women with dogs and circles under their eyes were taking walks, same as him. Far in the background someone was screaming, but it was the sort of noise humans knew to ignore.

In this town, the centre was square, with three restaurants, one pizzeria, two competing supermarkets and one café. Just two blocks further down the street was the apartment building Armin lived in, and when Eren reached the glass door, he stood there, waiting, until it was swung open.

Armin looked every bit as tired as he had sounded on the phone, but Eren had always thought he looked cute like that. He reached out and grabbed Armin's hand, holding it in an intimate sort of way, and without exchanging words with his friend he led the way, pulling Armin along. Tiredly, his friend walked after him, trying to match his steps despite his obvious tiredness.

They had always walked hand in hand. Armin had wanted to do it less, once their classmates had started to snicker behind their backs, but Eren had resorted to violence instead. He was sure that people would still spout hatred, but as long as Armin didn't have to hear it, it was fine by him.

Through the night, as silent companions, the friends walked across asphalt and concrete. Eren decided to walk them back towards his own neighbourhood, since he knew Armin would prefer the villa silence over loudmouthed drunks.

"When we've finished school," Armin said softly, though he sounded more awake already. "I'm leaving this place. I want to travel."

"Like you said when we kids," Eren smirked, holding Armin's hand tight. "I am not letting you go alone, you realize that, right?"

"Of course not," Armin smiled. "We'll go together. We could join the peace corp."

"Nah," Eren said. "I am going to become a journalist. I'll travel the world and report on everything that's happening, and bring to light all the injustice."

Armin was blushing slightly, from what Eren could tell in the darkness. "That's just like you," he said. "I am sure you can do it."

"And I'll take you along with me," Eren said. "Actually, you would probably be a better journalist. You're a much better writer."

"A writer," Armin repeated fondly. He looked like he enjoyed the idea.

"It's a promise," Eren declared after observing his friend. "I'll definitely take you away."

They passed the road past the river, and Armin looked down at the water. Eren took the chance to study his profile, as he always enjoyed doing. Any excuse he had to look or touch Armin he always took, so long as it was not uncomfortable for his friend.

It was perverted. He knew that his interest in Armin was not just platonic, and he knew that his constant desire to touch him and hold him close was not friendly in nature. But Armin was his one true friend, and he couldn't risk losing him. He just took what little victories he could get.

Armin was leaning against his shoulder by the time they reached Eren's house. It was a two stories high mansion with a well kept garden, a large backyard and a garage for two cars. Painted red, it was a picturesque, classic and enviable house. Eren opened the door as quietly as he could, and they slipped inside silently. Proceeding up the stairs, they reached Eren's bedroom, where the bed had gone cold with his absence.

The room was larger than Armin's entire apartment, and had once been filled with action toys and fake weapons. Now it was mostly videogames and sports magazines filling up the book cases, and one corner had nothing but a boxing bag screwed to the ceiling to take up space. A large TV, a queen sized bed, a sofa and a desk with a computer, the room was gave the impression of a spoilt teen.

Taking off his shirt and pants, Eren stepped out of his clothes until he was in his black briefs. He caught Armin staring, but his friend quickly averted his gaze in embarrassment, as Eren got into his bed.

"I'll take the couch," Armin said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Eren insisted. "Come here." He watched Armin nervously approach the bed, and take off his sweater, but he had no desire to strip further, from what Eren could see.

"You can use one of my shirts," he told Armin. "If you don't want to sleep in just your underwear." Armin nodded after a while, and he walked over to Eren's closet where he pulled out a t-shirt at least two sizes too large. Hidden behind the closet door, much to Eren's disappointment, he stripped down to his underwear before pulling the shirt over his head. He made his way over to the bed almost reluctantly, and Eren felt bad suddenly for pressuring him so. But his guilt disappeared when Armin got into his bed, and he could hold him tight.

It was difficult to restrain himself from doing anything inappropriate, but the warmth from Armin's body and the comfort of his bed soon lulled him back into a comforting sleep.

It couldn't be such a bad thing to do.

* * *

_Fraction three_

_"beauty and beasts"_

The boy walking to the grocery store was only six years old. It was the first time his mother let him shop by himself, and in his hand he held a shopping list, and in his pocket were a few bills of money. The boy was very proud to be out on his own, as if though he was on an adventure. He was one of the rowdy children whose times in the playground always ended up with him covered in blemishes and band-aids, with messy brown hair and wide, curious eyes. He wore shorts this day in celebration of summer warmth, and his knees were scraped and bruised.

It was looking to be a good day, he thought. His mother had given him enough money so that he could buy himself an ice cream (though he had to show her the receipt later, so she knew he didn't buy anything else for himself). He was thinking about all of the different ice creams he could choose from.

As he passed the fields on the left and a slope down to a river on his right he suddenly heard voices. The road was lonesome, connecting the slightly off-road villas where he lived and the more central area of the town where all the stores lay, so it was the first people he encountered. Eagerly, he looked about, since they sounded young. The boy had never had proper friends, because he lacked the patience and enjoyed fighting, but he didn't mind playing with strangers.

Finally he spotted the people he had heard, down by the river bank. The closer he got, the more he saw, and the four figures became clearer and clearer in his mind.

One person was in the middle. The other three were standing around them. The person in the middle was blonde, and smaller than the others. They were covering their head, but it didn't seem to help, when one of the others kicked them in their stomach.

"Hey, we told you to eat dirt!" one of them yelled. "So do it, you little faggot."

The boy who witnessed it all had no idea what a faggot was. But he saw the three larger boys rub the blonde in the middle's face into the ground, and attempt to shove the dirt into their mouth. And the boy who was rowdy and always getting into fights grew angry at the exchange.

Running at full speed down the slope he threw himself at one of the larger boys, tackling him to the ground. He started beating large one's face over and over, until he felt the other two grab him by his arms and pull him off. He twisted his body in their grip, and bit one of them as hard as he could. When he was momentarily let go, he swung his fist at the larger boy's face, and kicked him between his legs.

Filled with fury, he did not relent, kicking, punching and screaming that he would kill them. His knuckles bled, and his shirt was stained with blood, when the larger boys managed to shove him off, before they ran away. The boy with the bleeding knuckles wiped his mouth and was ready to pursue, when he was suddenly halted, after hearing a sob from the blonde one who had been eating dirt.

The boy looked at the blonde, wondering if it was a girl or a boy. Since they were crying, he guessed it was a little girl.

"You don't have to cry," he told her. "They're gone."

The blonde spit out some dirt and wiped her mouth, and then wiped her eyes, though the tears continued to fall afterwards.

"Th-thank you," she mumbled.

"Why were they beating you?" the boy asked.

The girl looked the other way. "Because I am disgusting," she said. "That's what they said, anyway. I am a boy so I shouldn't cry, that's what they said. They said I was a faggot, which means a disgusting person."

"You're a boy?" the other boy asked in surprise. "You look like a girl."

The blonde boy stared at the ground.

"Like a pretty girl," he corrected himself, remembering his manners. The poor, beaten boy sobbed again, so the violent one reached over and wiped away the tears.

"Stop that," he said. "I'm Eren. Who are you?"

"… Armin," came a nervous reply. Eren stood up, held out a hand for him to grab, and he pulled Armin to his feet when he took it.

"I'm going to the store," Eren said. "You can come with me. I'll make sure they don't attack you again."

Armin stared at him, dumbfounded. "Why?" he asked. "I'm disgusting… and I'm not a real boy, even you said so. I'm weak, and I cry, and I look like a girl…"

"Who cares?" Eren said flippantly. He shrugged his shoulders. "You're Armin, that's what you said. And those guys are the really disgusting ones."

He still held Armin's hand when he led them up the slope. When he looked back at his newfound friend, he found that Armin was staring at him awe. It made Eren grin, and seeing that, Armin even smiled.

At the supermarket, Eren ended up buying two ice cream cones, and Armin ended up following him home for the day. He stayed for dinner, and though he was silent, mostly just sitting there and watching Eren play videogames, he was comforting.

Eren had made his first friend.

* * *

_Fraction four_

_"the spell which ends at midnight"_

In a shared student apartment, two boys were lying on a shared bed. Furiously kissing each other, the one on top reeked of alcohol and tasted of blood, and the one on the bottom had a black eye and tears in his clothes. Their kisses were rough and unskilled, and the boy on the top moved his calloused hands over the frail body beneath him, while the boy on the bottom groaned and panicked.

"Armin," the drunk one said, with an non-sober voice heavy with lust. Armin brought up a hand to wipe away his tears before they were noticed, and when he was kissed again he kissed back with as much vigour he could muster.

"Eren," he replied when the other latched his teeth unto his neck, and bit angrily on his flesh. It was a moan, and he felt consumed, devoured, by the boy he had loved since he was six years old.

His clothes, already torn from the bar fight they had left running, were pulled off him without a struggle. Soon he was lying nude, his body lit up by the desk lamp across the room which Eren had forgotten to turn off before they had left. Armin's body was a marvel of bruises, scars and abuse, barely showing any patch of white, untouched, skin. As Eren stared down at his body, Armin could see the rage in his eyes, so he quickly distracted him by leaning up and stealing a kiss.

A kiss worked wonders on Eren's drunken mind. It made him burn anew with passion, and with an odd sense of voyeurism Armin watched as Eren stripped, showcasing a strong, healthy body for a nineteen year old, with bruises, sure, but clouded behind a complexion of someone who often saw the sun.

When Eren fucked him into the mattress, Armin nearly cried. He had wanted Eren for so long, but his tears were neither of happiness, nor of pain. He regretted having that fling with Jean. He regretted letting someone like _him_ have his first kiss. But most of all, he regretted the fact that this would be the only time he ever had Eren inside of him, the only time they could ever kiss. He bore with it, and loved every second, as much as he detested the tear in his heart.

The morning after, Eren woke first, and when he stirred Armin blinked his eyes open. They were nude and lying on a bed wet with sweat and come, in a dorm room reeking of sex and alcohol.

Eren sat on the edge of the bed, pinching the point between his eyes.

"Fuck," he swore. Armin wondered if he remembered that his best friend for thirteen years whom he had just fucked the night prior hadn't been drinking,

Nervously anticipating his reaction, Armin pulled up the sheets to cover his own nakedness. Eren turned, and looked at him.

"Armin," he said. "You're not gonna tell Annie, right?"

Armin didn't miss a beat. "Of course not," he said.

Eren nodded.

"Good," he said. "Good. I'm... I'm sorry, Armin." He paused, looked at Armin with a most apologetic expression. "I've wanted to try it with a guy for a while... And I guess drunk me didn't realize, you know... that it was you."

Armin felt like calling him a liar. He had heard Eren say his name as he climaxed. But he kept his mouth shut instead, and nodded.

"It's all right," he said. "We were drunk. We'll just forget it happened." His reassuring smile made Eren beam back.

"Great!"

But Armin knew that it wasn't.

* * *

_Fraction five_

_"the frog"_

For many years, the boy hadn't wanted to admit it. When he learnt what that awful word he had been called over and over really fit him, he tried to deny it. But he could never look at girls with a desire to kiss them. He could never fantasize about them naked. He was annoyed with the constant advertisement on women's near nude bodies, and he never got a thrill after seeing an adult film.

"So, Armin, you're gay, right?" another boy asked him. They were seventeen, they worked at a café together, and they were only on a first name basis.

When he was asked the question, rather than being taunted with it, Armin froze in his place. It was a chance to deny it, since it was phrased like a question. A way out. A way to ignore the truth for even longer.

"Oi, would you relax?" the boy chuckled. "I am not gonna be mean about it. You're just sort of queer, you know? Don't see many blokes our age with prissy hair like that; no offense."

"Jean, you're doing a poor job about not being mean," Armin retorted. It was after the café had closed for the day, so they were wiping clean the tables and getting rid of the old pastry. The café was small enough, but had a great location in the middle of the town, making it popular the year around.

"Well, I'm just honest," Jean said. "Sorry though, if that hurt your feelings or whatever."

"Mm."

"So? What is it? Gay or not?"

Armin stopped wiping one of the tables, and looked back at Jean, who was leaning over the counter.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he replied.

Nervously, Jean was suddenly blushing, scratching his neck.

"Well, see, I've been... I want to experiment, you know. That's only natural, right? So if you're gay, I was thinking that you might be willing to go on a date, or something."

Armin blinked. Jean was looking sheepishly to the side, the way he had often done when Armin had seen him try to flirt with customers, or asked girls out for dates. It would almost feel flattering to think that he could make Jean so flustered, had his opinion on him been higher.

"I object to a date," he replied curtly, before presuming with the cleaning.

"O-oh," Jean stammered. "Really?"

"Really," Armin replied, trying to sound gentle, but firm in his decision.

Both boys continued tidying up until every spot of the café was wiped and clean, and then they turned off the lights and headed to the back where their jackets and bags were. As Armin put on his messenger bag in the tiny hall, he realized just how cramped it was for two boys to be in there at the same time. He could barely move, and that was when Jean spoke to him again.

Saying, with a hint of jealousy; "Is it because of Yeager?"

Armin's mind shouted denial, even though his body shook.

"Thought so," Jean grimaced. "I used to think you were a couple, until he denied it."

Those words made Armin startle, and he managed to turn around, standing almost chest to chest – though a head shorter – to Jean.

"You spoke to Eren?" he asked, eyes wide with shock. More than denying his feelings to himself, he had hoped Eren would never even think of it.

"I ran into him a couple of days ago," Jean said. Gone was his stutter and blush, as he observed Armin almost cunningly. "And I asked him a few questions about you. Asked if you were single. He said you were. So I asked him if you were gay. He said he you were."

"He... said that?" Armin asked.

"Of course, I needed you to confirm it before asking you out. But I'm right, aren't I? And you've got the hots for Yeager, so that's why you're not going to date me, huh?"

Jean's words stung. Armin had felt weak, he had felt worthless, and he had felt ready to die. But his heartbreak was a whole different sort of anguish to experience. Knowing that Eren thought he was gay. Knowing that Eren didn't feel the same way. He now knew that the love he had been denying himself to feel was the purest emotion in his body, and it was forever bound to be one-sided.

His tears started to fall before he realized it. He sunk to the floor, weeping, once a habit, and now a rarity. As if though his chest had been torn open, the pain was so physical, he clutched his hands over his heart and cried. Vaguely did he hear Jean's worried voice, and faintly did he feel two strong arms embrace him, but nothing in the world was more real than his broken heart, and useless love.

That night, they walked past Eren without noticing him, and Armin was looking steadily on the ground with Jean's arm around him. Held by the wrong man.

* * *

_Fraction six_

"_the highest tower_"

The men hadn't seen each other for five years. One had been married, had a daughter, and gotten divorced. The other had been studying and working rigorously. It was uncanny how easily they had drifted apart once they were no longer roommates, after having spent their entire childhood and adolescence together. Now they were two strangers having a cup of coffee and trying to catch up on five years of silence.

The man who was a father had a stubble, and he kept his hair shorter than he used to. He looked every bit of the thirty year old he was meant to be, but he dressed in predominantly black tees and jeans, still containing part of his rebellion, though his years as a journalist behind the desk had worn it down.

The man who was studious had grown out his hair more, and he kept it out of his face with a hair tie. He was taller, but still slim, and retained his youthful looks, even though his eyes were darker and colder than the other remembered them to be. He always wore well ironed dress shirts, sometimes with the sleeves rolled up, when he worked late at the office.

"So, you live by yourself? No husband, boyfriend, pets?" the father asked.

"That's right," said the studious man. "I don't really have time for anything like that. But I heard about you and Annie… I'm sorry."

The father rolled his eyes. "That was three years ago. I'm over it."

"Do you have-"

"Another woman in my life?" the father cut him off. "Not besides Johanna. I've got half-time custody, and she's turning six years old soon. I'm plenty busy on that front. Annie's single too, and I'm starting to think we'll remain that way." He drank his coffee, and the other copied him motion. "Actually, I have started to think Annie maybe was the only woman in my life."

The studious man furrowed his eyebrows sympathetically. "Eren, you don't sound like you're over it," he said softly.

"I am," Eren assured him. "I'm just saying. I haven't ever been attracted to a woman like that, either before, or after. So I started to think that maybe I'm like you, Armin."

Armin blinked, staring at his friend in shock. "You realized that now?" His voice held more venom than he intended for it, but it went straight over Eren's head.

"No, I had my suspicions for a while," he explained. "I was crushing on you pretty hard when we were teens. Then you went and dated that horse-face asshole and I sort of gave up," he confessed.

He looked up from his coffee to his old friend when he received no reply. Armin was wearing a most startled look, with his eyebrows raised and his mouth agape.

"Armin…?"

"You… you were?" Armin asked. "But Eren, that can't be," he shook his head in denial, which caused Eren to furrow his eyebrows.

"Yes, I am serious. Why are you acting like that's so surprising? You're smart, I'm sure you knew."

"How… how would I know?"

"I was a little shithead, I kept inviting you to stay over and share bed and stuff, don't you remember?" Eren asked, still with a nervous chuckle to his voice.

Armin just stared right ahead, and felt indifferent about his coffee going cold.

"Armin, what's wrong?" Eren asked.

The reason they had drifted apart was easy to pinpoint, but harder to explain. Eren had finished his studies and gotten a job as a journalist. He had moved in together with Annie, and in turn, Armin had moved to another city to study at another, more prestigious, university. He was now a highly sought after lawyer, a civil rights defender, and a gay activist. The last time he had seen Eren had been at the other's wedding, when he had taken care of the newly born Johanna, and envied Annie when she said "I do."

Five years should have stopped him from pining after the man who had been his best friend for nearly twenty. Yet there he was, sitting just a table from the man he had always loved, with a conscious filled of self-loathing for not having acted sooner.

"Eren," he said slowly, with his gaze turned to the table. "Why did you want to meet today?"

Eren wrote articles for The Wall, the city of Maria's leading newspaper. Armin had kept track of his work like that. Mostly, Eren was just made to write down smaller columns, and once he had gotten an editorial, where he had discussed gay rights. The Wall had tried contacting Armin numerous times for an interview, but he knew just how skewed newspapers could be, and wanted to deal with none of the media drama if he could allow it.

It was only too obvious to him why Eren had wanted to meet. Why he had brought up either painful memories or deliberate lies, to coax Armin to his side. The manipulation was transparent, at least to him. He wouldn't fall for a trap like that.

"Why…" Eren repeated. "It's been ages, Armin. Like I said, we haven't met in, what is it, five years. And things are different now, I was just thinking… I mean, what do you do?"

Armin sighed, and hid his face in his hands, with his elbows against the table. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but he had had his suspicions from the beginning, truly.

"Eren, I'm afraid I have to go. Work stuff." It pained him to lie, but he felt close to tears as he realized why Eren had wanted to meet. He got up and put on his jacket, ready to depart.

"What- Armin!" Eren exclaimed, grabbing his wrist. "We just got here-" he tried to make eye contact, but Armin averted his eyes at each turn.

"I've said no to your magazine countless times, and I am not making an exception because it's you." He pulled his arm free, and looked up at Eren, hating the fact that his eyes had teared up but also unable to stop it. "Farewell."

Armin hurried out of the café before Eren could stop him, and didn't look back once when he was in the backseat of a taxi, taken back home to the tall skyscraper where he lived. The tears had dried up by the time he was in the elevator, but when he was indoors, sitting on his sofa in the lonesome, spacey apartment, he sobbed.

His life had been empty for five years straight. He had tried to fill it with work and purpose, but nothing had left him satisfied. And he wondered, wallowing in his pathetic life, had he ever truly been?

* * *

_Fraction seven_

_"magic"_

The boy was lying on a hospital bed, bandages covering his head, IV drop in his arm. Anything he had been made to eat had been thrown up within minutes, but for the last two hours he hadn't felt hungry in the slightest.

The hospital was white, but he didn't mind the brightness. There were nurses constantly walking past the open door, and some looked in on him, smiled, and asked if he needed anything. He wanted another blanket, but he didn't want to burden them with more work, so he said no.

It was his second day, technically. He had arrived sometime around midnight, though he had only waken two hours later, and now it was the afternoon. Beside his bed sat his grandfather, though he shouldn't be there, and he had brought books. The boy read to pass the time; even though he had already read the ones he had been brought.

His new reality was challenged when he heard the steps of someone rushing through the hallway outside in sneakers. Someone yelled after whoever was rushing, but reading boy couldn't hear what they said. All he realized was that the rushing boy ran straight into his room and jumped onto his bed, hugging him tightly. The embrace was tight enough to hurt him, but he didn't mind it. The pain was a different sort than the one he had experienced the earlier night.

"Eren," a man said from the door opening. "I told you not to run. And you're hurting him, get off." The man was Eren's father, and he had to pull at Eren's shirt to get him to stop hugging.

"Dr. Yeager," the reading boy's grandfather greeted the man.

"Mr. Arlert," said Dr. Yeager. "I apologize for Eren barging in, we just heard what had happened-"

"Who were the fuckers who did it?" Eren yelled, grabbing at the reading boy's shoulders, grasping him harshly. "Who? I am going to fucking murder them." He was twelve years old, and his eyes were honest.

"Eren, don't hurt him," Dr. Yeager scolded his son. Eren glared up at his father stubbornly, but he eased his hold.

The hurt boy on the bed started to cry, without meaning to, so Eren hugged him again, and held him close. He offered no words of comfort, only saying "I'll make them pay", as he stroked the crying boy's back.

The adults in the room left the boys alone, going to drink coffee and give them some privacy. When the crying ceased, Eren sat down on the bed next to his friend's hips. He was turned to the hurt boy, and placed his hand over his.

"Armin… I should have been there…" he said with a self-loathing voice Armin was familiar with. Still he said nothing in response, so Eren went on. "I am so angry. Who the fuck would hurt you? You're… I'll kill them, I promise."

"Eren, don't," Armin said meekly.

"I will. They don't deserve to live, they… My dad said you could have died! I can't forgive that, I'll never forgive that."

"Eren, if you kill them, you'll go to jail!" Armin said in desperation. "Please…. Don't…" He bit his lip. It wasn't just a problem of individual bullies. He hadn't recognized most of the boys from the other night. Only at twelve years old, he knew that the fault was in society, in the way children were raised, in what traits they were made to admire, and which traits they should shun. Armin's crying was wrong by those standards. It wasn't a problem Eren could punch to make it go away.

Eren hung his head down, and he squeezed Armin's left hand.

"Damn it," he cursed. It took Armin some time to realize that he was crying as well. "Damn it, I was so worried Armin… I was so angry at dad for taking me away… if I had known…"

"You couldn't have," Armin said. The IV drop hurt when he put moved his other arm and put his right hand over Eren's. "Eren… it's not your fault. I shouldn't have been out…"

"Don't you dare blame yourself!" Eren snapped. "Armin, you should be able to go wherever the hell you please without some idiot fuckers attacking you!" His teary eyes glared into Armin's, captivating him, and making him, momentarily, believe those words.

Numbly, he nodded. Wherever he wanted, he thought.

They sat in silence, hand in hand, for almost an hour. The nurses who looked inside left them be, and though the hallway was busy and noisy, their room was a void.

Eren filled it, finally, with three dreadful words. "I am sorry." And though Armin didn't want him to apologize, he couldn't deny the way the words spread in his heart. Suddenly, it was all right. His prince charming was there again.

* * *

_Fraction eight_

_"sleeping beauty"_

The airport was filled with people going left and right, hurrying to check in their bags, catch their flights, hug their relatives and say good bye to their friends. The man seated on one of the benches had a red suitcase on wheels next to his seat, and was anxiously looking around the distressing people. He had no idea if the person he was waiting for would even show. They had had no contact after the anxious man sent the plane tickets to him, and it was only a gamble, pure and simple.

Three months had passed since their unsuccessful last meet-up. The gambling man had obsessed over their last meeting ever since, and thought about it more and more. He had grown increasingly troubled, and though he was only thirty, he had spotted greys in his hair.

The speakers announced that he had thirty minutes longer to check in his bags, before he had to go to the gate. But he had not yet seen the man he was waiting for, so he remained seated. In his pocket was his wallet and a picture of his daughter, but he had turned it back and forth, not out of shame, but out of respect. Respect for the man he was waiting for.

One and a half decates he had spent pining after that man. Half of it he had been married to a captivating woman, and yet he had never strayed from his true love. There was no other way to describe it, even though he had only confessed three months ago, and only kissed him once in drunken courage, ten years earlier.

The waiting man sat still for another twenty minutes. The speakers sounded again, announcing how his time was running out. He realized what a foolish gamble it was, then, to rely on an excessive childhood crush. His old friend had done well in his life, and was successful, busy. He couldn't drop anything to meet with a man he had distanced himself from.

With a pained face, the man rose from the bench and held up his ticket in his hand. He walked towards the trashcan, because the trip was meant for two, and the money wasted would hurt him less than going alone.

"Eren!" a familiar voice called, just as he was about to drop the ticket. He snapped around, and saw his friend running; his hair dishevelled, his jacket open with the belt swinging behind him; right towards Eren. He was dragging a black suitcase, and his face was red from exhaustion and poor stamina.

The running man came to a stop right before him and stood there panting, regaining his breath as Eren stared on with a bewildered expression. Only when the panting man looked up at him did he realize that it was really him.

"Armin!" he exclaimed, and he wanted nothing but to hug him, kiss him, and never let go. With his cheeks flushed and hair messed up, he looked just like he used to when they were children playing.

"Eren," Armin repeated, still panting. "We need to check in our bags, quickly." Always rational, even when overcome with emotion, Eren remembered. They hurried towards the counter and had their bags checked in, then they walked through the metal detectors, showed their passports and tickets, and were allowed to wait at the gate.

All the time, they said nothing to each other. But whenever Eren looked to his right and saw Armin there, they shared a smile. The newsstands, tax frees, bars and cafés offered little distraction for men so caught up in their own worlds.

The seats by the gates were lonely, and they sat down close together on the blue cloth. The floor was well polished, and behind them were large windows showing the airplanes and landing strip. Yet Eren barely noticed. He could be in the sewers, and he would still have looked at Armin as if though he was perfection itself.

He forgot his ability to speak, but Armin had always been good at knowing what to say.

"I can't believe you remembered," he said. "I thought you had forgot about it… actually, I thought that you had forgot about me."

"Armin, how could you possibly think that?" Eren asked. He grabbed Armin's hand placed in his lap, and they locked eyes.

"I was pretty good at convincing myself of how useless I was," Armin said sadly. "Even though I had you… I thought I mattered only when we were together."

"That's-"

"-Let me finish," Armin said, squeezing Eren's hand. "Do you remember… when you were drunk, and said you wanted to experiment with me? When we had sex."

Eren frowned. "Yeah."

"You said afterwards that you hadn't meant to do it with me. But I was sober the entire time, Eren, and… I'm sorry I took advantage of you and let it happen. I had been in love with you since you saved me when we were kids, and I thought it would be the only time I could have you. And when we did it, you said my name. I knew then that you wanted me more than you let on."

There is no anger in Eren at the confession. Just confusion. "You acted very…-"

"I thought that maybe you hated the fact that you were attracted to me. Maybe you were in the closet, maybe you hated the fact that you were attracted to a guy – I know how that feels like. Before I was with Jean, I felt the same self-loath whenever you and I were too close. I loved it, and hated myself for doing so. At the café, you told me that you had done it on purpose. You told me that you had been attracted to me for many years as well. And at first, I was angry, because you still got together with Annie, even though you could have had me. But then I thought… it was the same for me, with Jean.

"When we fell out of touch, I was partly relieved. I loved you with all of my heart, but you had a new life, and a family of your own, and I couldn't indulge the idea of us being together. I focused on everything but romance, and even though I tried to be with someone else, I kept thinking about how wonderful it would have been if that other person had been you."

Eren listened to Armin let it all out patiently, but he made a small input.

"Armin, at the café, the newspaper… they did want an interview with you. And I volunteered. But I didn't expect you to say yes, and I never planned to make you. I just wanted a chance to see you again up in person."

Armin gave him a sad, sad smile.

"I realized that when I received the ticket. I feel awful, I spent three months thinking that you had tried to manipulate me… but you really…"

"Yeah. I love you. Still," Eren said sincerely. He looked into Armin's deep eyes, and realized just how little their colour had changed. Those eyes which spoke more brilliantly than anything else were what he loved the most.

"I love you too. I never could stop." The eyes and mouth spoke the same words.

Eren leant forward and gave Armin the sort of gentle kiss he should have given for a first. Armin responded, though he laughed when the beard tickled him. They deepened the kiss for seconds, and every piece of pent up lust and desire flooded through their bodies.

Words were one thing, but if they doubted them, their kiss was evident of their truth. They left their reality behind with every touch and movement, and went on a trip to a land far, far away. Together.


End file.
